To Wonderland
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: [7th manga timeline] They can't stop falling deeper into the rabbit hole. They can't stop falling into trouble. They can't stop falling for each other, and that's what will destroy them in the end.


**To Wonderland**

By Kay 

Disclaimer: Don't own Banana Fish. It's a pity.

Author's Notes: Kind of weird, but... oh well. Sort of like Snapshots, connected but you don't have to read that. 7th manga through time in apartment timeline. Ash/Eiji implications a lot stronger in this one. :) Enjoy! 

* * *

**i.**

In Eiji's mind, he is falling further down the darkness of the rabbit hole.

"I'm going out," Ash tells him quietly, avoiding his eyes as he shrugs into his denim jacket. It rides up on his wrists, and almost without his permission, Eiji's dull eyes follow the glowing strip of pale flesh. Part of him is resisting the irrational urge to grab it, encircle it with his own fingers and hold only tightly, and open his mouth to protest with the weak words in his mind—but that would be foolish.

"Okay," he finally answers. He doesn't know what else to say.

"Later," Ash says. And then he is gone, the click of the front door pushing Eiji even deeper into the chasm.

'Later' is a long time, and he knows that with painful familiarity.

**ii.**

Sometimes Eiji turns up the radio in the kitchen while he works—it doesn't bother anyone because he's usually alone at this time of day, left with a sink of soapy water and the warm sunlight drifting through the yellow curtains of their apartment. Here, humming the music and half-singing to the English words he can recognize, he lets himself relax against the lemon scent of dishing soap.

It's almost ironic, he thinks to himself at times, that the neighbors consider him Ash's Chinese houseboy. It's almost true. But he doesn't mind.

Ash doesn't like the radio. He doesn't seem to care much for music at all, though he never says anything if Eiji flips the dial on. But he ignores it, and sometimes frowns thoughtfully if he's caught up in something, and so Eiji tries to remember not to distract him with it. He doesn't want to annoy him, after all.

Because he loves the music. It's just that he far prefers Ash's company, as silent as it can be, to any other melody.

**iii.**

"We're going to be late," Ash says impatiently, tapping the leather watch strapped around his wrist. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, hair messy but pulling off a tousled sort of look that made Eiji envious.

"I am hurrying," he says in irritation, pulling a sweatshirt over his head and knocking his own black hair into disarray. It is too late to fix, however—instead, he runs brisk fingers through it and knocks a few strands to the side. They are already running fifteen minutes behind schedule. Although, "It your fault, anyway. You do not tell me until last minute."

Ash taps his watch again, rolling his eyes.

Eiji sighs, but ruffles his hair one last time. He's not vain—he tends to take clothes as comfortable as they come, and certainly doesn't preen in the mirror very often—but he doesn't want to look as though he's rushed a shower and pulled on the first things he saw laying in his drawers (which he has just done), especially since the restaurant they are supposed to be going to is…

What was the word Bones had used? Posh. Whatever "posh" means, it has Ash dressing almost as good as he had when in disguise as the rich bank son. And Eiji certainly has nothing that elegant.

He pulls at his black jeans and sweater anxiously now, smoothing down the wrinkles before glancing nervously at Ash's impatient form. "I look okay?"

Something softens in Ash's face. "Does it matter? It's just dinner."

_'But I haven't been out for a week,'_ Eiji is tempted to say, but he stops it by biting his lip. Instead he just nods. "Okay, let us go."

And though they get there five minutes late for their reservations, and everyone in the dining room stares at them curiously, and Eiji is dressed even more shabbily than the busboys (a fact which has him flushed and hiding his face half of the meal), and they both drink too much wine and Eiji holds it terribly, it's all worth it. It's worth a thousand other nights just as miserable.

Because when Ash holds the glass door open for him, it feels as though he is the most valuable person there. And staring at those golden eyes across the table, unusually warm above that familiar smile, Eiji thinks it's probably true.

**iv.**

It takes only three days for Ash to realize there's something weird going on. There are Avon catalogs strewn all around the kitchen counter and between the sofa seats—it's like a plague. A huge damn plague of catalogs, and not the kind they get in the mail, these are unlabeled catastrophes waiting to happen.

"Are you planning on ordering make-up or something?" he finally demands to Eiji, who is currently curled up in a chair with a book about photography in his hands. One of the gang boys had brought it to him a few days ago.

Eiji glances up, brow wrinkling in puzzlement. "Eh?"

Ash tosses one of the Avon catalogs on the coffee table, frowning down on him and crossing his arms. "Wanna explain these?"

"Oh!" Eiji's face brightens. "These are very nice present from Miss Amelia."

"Miss… Amelia?" Something in Ash's stomach twists and he scowls further, trying to remember where he's heard the name before.

"Yes! She is Mrs. Coalman's daughter, our neighbor. She say I should look at them for ideas."

"Ideas…?" He's baffled and a little disturbed, and he has a nervous notion in the back of his skull that he should tentatively ask about these "ideas" and why they involve mascara or foundation, but now he settles for gaping at Eiji and hoping the answer will come out without too much manipulation.

It does. "Oh, just some things," Eiji says calmly, flipping open his book again. "I think we must have Christmas decorations, yes? There so little in our store downstairs! I think maybe I just order. Miss Amelia works for Avon, she say that I can order whatever I like for no shipping… I was thinking, maybe some snowmen figurines… I have always wanted bubble lights, too… and maybe snowflake designs for windows, but we have so many windows! Ah, but you should look, too, Ash. So much to choose from! It is very nice selection."

Ash stares at him.

"What?" Eiji's eyes narrow. "We are having Christmas decorations. Kong say he can find good tree, so you cannot say no!"

"Eiji… it's still November."

"Good to be prepared early, see?" The Japanese youth smugly brings his book up again. "You should look, too. Have you ever used icicle lights? Very pretty. Easy to untangle, as well…"

"… no," Ash manages to say blankly. He tries to make his brain process it—the idea of a Christmas with stupid, nonsensical lights and a tree they definitely wouldn't know where to put without having it get in the way. Silly plastic snowmen for the guys to trip over and knock down. How did they even know whether Eiji'd still be here by then? He couldn't be. How could they even be certain they'd be _alive?_

"I will even make you traditional Christmas cake like in Japan," Eiji is saying absentmindedly, as though running through the plans in his head, and suddenly Ash had to swallow the lump in his throat heavily.

A Christmas with stupid, nonsensical lights and a tree they definitely wouldn't know where to put without having it get in the way. Silly plastic snowmen for the guys to trip over and knock down. An actual sit-down dinner and maybe red wine, and those ridiculous holiday movies on the television that he knows Eiji will demand to see, every last one, until it's so dark that they can't even see the snow falling outside the windows, just the fake plastic decorations stuck there.

He tries to remember the last time he had a Christmas tree.

"Ash?" He looks up numbly to see Eiji looking at him worriedly from over his novel, dark eyes soft and anxious. "I know I said… but… it is alright?"

Ash tries to find the words.

"It's okay," he finally says, and picks up the catalog. He ignores Eiji's quick, delighted intake of air, even though it almost brings a brief smile to his lips. After all, he'd better find something besides snowmen—they're almost as bad as pumpkins.

**x.**

It rains outside well into the day.

"You okay?" Ash asks when he comes in later, shaking his head to free it of the loose droplets of water gathering on his hair. He peels off his jacket with a grimace; it's soaking wet.

Eiji barely looks at him. He's sitting beside the window, his left cheek pressed against it and eyes almost entirely closed. A pair of white pajamas are draped across his knees and one of Ash's worn t-shirts is clutched in his slender fingers; he'd been folding the laundry, the basket now half-empty beside him.

"Eiji?" Ash pauses in the doorway when there is no answer.

At the second call of his name, the dark head stirs. He blinks steadily, turning to look at Ash in something resembling confusion. "Ash?"

"Are you feeling alright?" Ash frowns, crossing over to slide his hand against the older boy's forehead and check the warmth there. The light strands of black falling against his fingers tickle slightly—he feels Eiji's skin twitch a bit under his touch, but the flesh is cooler than his own.

He lets it linger anyway. They stay there like that for a moment, just gazing at each other, the rain pattering gently outside of the apartment and onto the windows in blurred streams.

"What were you doing?" he finally asks.

"Welcome home," Eiji says with an oddly sad smile. He puts down the clothes still lingering in his hold, flexing his hands as though they are cramped. His eyes are rimmed a suspicious red that is stark against the black of his eyelashes.

Ash's finally lets his hand slip away. He doesn't ask again.

**vi.**

"The boss says you shouldn't buy anymore of that natto shit," Bones remarks doubtfully, poking at the grocery store shelves as he stands beside Eiji and the shopping cart. The youth looks up at him, raising an eyebrow and adding the natto to the pile of boxed food and uncooked rice anyway. "He says he won't eat it."

Eiji rolls his eyes. "Ash say many things. That doesn't mean I must do them."

Bones makes a face. "You're a brave guy, Eiji, y'know that?"

He shrugs a bit; he never knows what to say to this kind of thing. It wouldn't matter, anyway, if he tried to protest. Instead, he takes another box from the shelf and looks it over with a thoughtful frown. He once felt bad about making one of the gang come to the bottom floor shopping center of the apartment building with him, but now it doesn't faze him. Bones, however, is admittedly his favorite counterpart—Kong tends to ask him to add random things to the pile, and Alex keeps claiming everyone is suspicious if they so much as glance at them.

Ash has only gone shopping with him once. But after the way Mrs. Coalman had drilled him about his occupation, family life, relationship with Eiji, marital status, childhood, favorite dinner meals, opinion on current government policies, and what he had under his kitchen sink, he'd declined to return.

It is a little of a pity, but honestly Eiji prefers it just a bit more that way. Ash would never let him buy natto.

"Did you get the soda?"

"Yes." Eiji studies his list pensively. "I need… fabric softener."

Bones stops. Turns around slowly. To Eiji's inquiring stare, he demands, "The boss uses fabric softener! The _boss_! _My_ boss!"

"Ah… yes?"

Eiji is still bewildered when, fifteen minutes after the fact, Bones is still snickering under his breath.

**vii.**

It all starts when Alex comes to him, shifting awkwardly and smiling at him with an almost sheepish expression.

"Hey, Eiji… I was kind of wondering about something…"

"Yes?" It's not often the gang approaches him in such a manner—usually they barge in or tease him about something. Kong tends to ruffle his hair before saying a word, and afterwards it's usually a sly hint about being fed. (Eiji actually rather enjoys keeping the teenagers well-fed, though he could do without the hair tousling; that is for children.) Alex's face eases into a larger, more relaxed grin with his apparent cooperation.

"I was wondering—well, actually, most of the guys were thinking about it… will you write our names in Japanese? Y'know, with those weird characters?"

Eiji blinks at him. He is oddly touched by this, though he's not entirely sure why. "Of course, if you would like. I must have ink and paper to make it nice, of course."

So Alex's face lights up, which is well worth any work on Eiji's part, and they go shopping downstairs for fine white paper and some bottled ink, and Bones steals a paintbrush from some kid's art set, and he sits at the kitchen table with what must be the entire gang peering over his shoulder in fascination as he writes their individual names on each sheet of paper with careful, elegant strokes. He is somewhat proud of his work—his teachers were always delighted with his success in calligraphy and with katakana. It's even better when he realizes that he doesn't even have to ask for any of their names, though occasionally he inquires after the spelling.

When they have all trickled out with enthusiastic thanks and bragging ("Look, yours is so simple, mine's got this cool thing," and, "Hell, I could do this shit! That's awesome! I'm gonna practice it so I can spray paint it on shit!"), and Eiji is working out the knots in his fingers from clenching a paintbrush for too long, Ash walks into the kitchen and leans against the wall.

"They're like damn kids," he remarks. Eiji laughs at that.

"It is good. I enjoy practice, see."

"Yeah." They are silent for a moment, and then Ash gets an almost embarrassed look on his face. "If you… I mean, if you want…"

When he doesn't say anything, Eiji tilts his head. "If I…?"

"Can I see yours? And… mine, if it's not too much trouble."

Eiji flushes, though he's not entirely sure why. "Of course." He takes out a clean sheet of paper—just one, though he doesn't think about that—and dips his drying paintbrush into the wet ink again. In a few strokes, he has written them side-by-side in vertical rows as per his custom.

Ash comes over and peers down at them curiously. "Wow. Which one's mine?"

"This," he murmurs, pointing to it. He can't get rid of the red burn settling around his neck and ears, and it grows even darker because of it. It feels strange, he thinks in fascination, to see his name next to Ash's on that clean, stark piece of paper. They look good together.

"Can I keep it?"

"Yes," he says. But he's not sure what he's answering to, not really. When Ash leaves, he slowly writes their names again. Only this time, they are in English, and they are so close together that they look the same word, _asheiji_, and he thinks that looks good together, too.

He fills the entire paper, and then rips it into tiny pieces and leaves it in the trash. His heart is pounding; whether from fear or something else, he cannot tell.

**viii.**

"Fuck," Ash mutters in the dark.

Eiji is waiting for him. He carefully reaches over to flip on the light beside his bed, making sure the covers rustle enough to warn of his awakening and not startle Ash. When the glow fills the room, the blonde looks up at him wearily in resignation from the other bed, his hand gripping his arm tightly. The jacket he wears is soaked there in garish streaks of crimson and black.

He is up in a second, just like that, and beside him.

"You are hurt," he says numbly, his fingers flinching as they reach out to touch the wound. Ash's eyes are unreadable, blank of anything but fatigue and a faded sort of pain. He shrugs lightly. Winces when it makes his arm twinge.

"It'll be okay."

Eiji bites his lip to choke off the cry of outrage and frustration, and instead presses Ash's hand tighter to the bleeding. "I get first aid," he says, ignoring the cringe on the other boy's sharply-drawn features. "Hold that."

Ash doesn't say anything, and he remains silent through the entire procedure as Eiji cautiously cleans the wound and bandages it. As he's wrapping the gauze around his arm, the foreign boy finally works up the courage to look at his friend's face. Steeling himself, he asks, "Ash, did you—"

He stops. Softens.

When he finishes bandaging, Eiji pushes Ash's form back slowly onto the bed. He unties his ragged tennis shoes, throws his stained shirt in the hamper, and pulls the blankets up to his chin. Ash never awakens, not even when Eiji leans down to brush his hair away from his face as a parent would do for their child, the strength of a thousand butterflies dancing under his fingertips.

**ix.**

"Hit me," Ash states firmly.

Eiji looks at him with a frown.

"With a new card, Eiji," the blonde sighs heavily. "From the deck?"

"Oh!" Grinning sheepishly, the dark-eyed boy takes a card from the top of the pile in the center of the table and slides it over to Ash. Face up.

"Not like that!"

"What? What is wrong?" Eiji groans in consternation. "Everything is wrong to you! This game is horrible. You Americans have horrible games."

"You said you wanted to learn so you could play with the guys next time they had a tournament in the apartment," Ash reminds him, flipping the card over anyway and sticking it in his hand. "And you're not supposed to let everyone see the card. Just give it to me. Face down."

"I am not," Eiji protests, offended. "That not what you say earlier!"

Ash twitches. Takes a deep breath. Finally, with a dawning, decidedly wicked grin that most of his enemies wisely avoid, he asks, "Hey, I'll teach you another game if you want. It's a lot of fun. You'd be good at it."

"Oh, what is it?" Eiji demands eagerly. Ash almost feels bad about it. _Almost._

"Fifty-two card pick up."

**x.**

When Ash shoots his gun, he tries not to think about Eiji.

Sometimes it's hard, though. Sometimes the man he's murdering changes under his narrowed eyes—sometimes he is already the same, anyway, already skinny in build and pale in skin, but either way something in him freezes and panics when the body hits the ground, blood welling up over its back and over gritty pavement. The black bangs falling over the forehead, often slicked red or dripping, always make him nauseous. It's worse when the man is actually Asian.

Sometimes he looks entirely different, and it still aches.

"Good shot, boss," someone might've said softly behind him, but they don't speak anymore. He wonders if they're seeing the same thing he does.

When the nightmares come at night, he wants to turn that gun on himself. But of course, it never happens that way.

**xi.**

"This drive me crazy," Eiji groans, sprawling out over the sofa and letting his legs dangle off of the cushions. "I used to jog every day. Very long time. Burn energy. I want to go out, Ash," he adds, directing this firm declaration towards the blonde lounging in the chair nearby.

Ash shakes his head, but it's regretfully. "You'll have to stick it out for a while longer. I'm worried about something going on a block from here. We'll be laying low—even me—for a few days."

That gives Eiji pause. "You stay?"

"Yeah. For a while." He closes his eyes with a faint smile.

"Ah," says Eiji, "that is good."

**xii. **

Sometimes they'll spend a night on the weekend and just sit in front of the television set, drinking beer and laughing over late night comedies. Ash will explain what he can to Eiji, who will loose interest if he's drunk enough within five minutes, as they both sprawl out across the room.

Tonight, Ash is slumped in the corner of the couch, Eiji's warmth pressing into his left knee from where he sits on the floor. Every so often, the Japanese youth sways, bumping back into his leg and then wavering back away, before coming forward again to lean against it heavily.

Soon the television is nothing but static, a low buzz filling their ears. Eiji peers up at Ash through his black bangs, eyes hazy and wide in the dim lighting. "Ash?"

He considers the obvious question. Lets his eyes flutter shut. "Yeah?"

But the confirmation is all that is needed. Eiji rests his head against his knee again, nuzzling it absently and tugging lightly at the bottom of his jeans, and that's all, but it's enough for now—this closeness, their sighs mingling in the stillness and then the drugged sleep of the content.

Eiji's leg stretches out in his sleep and sends a beer can rolling across the floor, but Ash does not wake. He sleeps now, deep and dreamless.

**xiii.**

The seasons come and go. Sometimes Ash wonders about strange things—like did leaves fall in Japan? Did Eiji ever play as a child in the piles of red and brown and yellow crunching leaves, giggling and getting them tangled in his dark hair and woolen sweaters, until he carried the scent of the earth everywhere?

Did he enjoy the summers? Ice cream? It's like a slideshow in his mind; he sees a scrawny, gawky teenager sitting on top of a fence, trying to capture a melting fruit Popsicle with his tongue. Or maybe he played sports. He was a pole vaulter, right? Did they do anything else besides run and jump?

He isn't sure how to ask the questions. Isn't even sure why he wants the answers. But he's tired of seeing an Eiji who stares out windows and awakens at night, face gaunt with worry when he sees Ash and searches him automatically for new wounds. It's wrong. He's sick of the brave smiles and the way he plays with the neighbor's children sometimes in the hallways, always offering them candy or taking them for rides on his back until he complains that it's bruised.

Because Eiji would be happier somewhere else, he knows it. Somewhere where he isn't hunted. A place safe and free from terror, violence and lies. Away from _him._

Sometimes Eiji looks at him and sees these thoughts, and that's when he lets something show in the darkness of his eyes that makes them brighter than usual, more raw and intense. And that's when he says, "Ash, this is—"

He always turns away, frantically wondering if this will kill him in the end, rather than Dino, rather than a bullet, rather than himself.

**xiv.**

The seasons come and go. Sometimes Eiji wonders about strange things—like did Ash ever go to the festivals he's been to in Japan as a child? Brightly strung lights and stands with steaming, mouth-watering food fill his mind as the weather changes, and he tries to picture Ash mingled in with the crowds, or trying to capture a fish for a prize with a flimsy net. The image always fades, however, into the gritty reality. Ash most likely spent his summers crouching in alleyways, broken glass and dirt against his knees, always looking around the next corner.

He wonders if he enjoys summer most. Ice cream. It's a slideshow gently clicking away in his mind, the "could have been" and "what if" revolving around until all falls to quiet despair. But sometimes he wonders if perhaps he still found ways to smile. A haggard man playing music on the street corner, pool with friends that weren't afraid to nudge your elbow to make you miss your shot. He wonders if he's had these things, at the very least, to soothe his life.

He isn't sure how to ask the questions. Isn't even sure why he wants the answers. But he's tired of seeing Ash the way he is, shattered and stubborn, the leopard climbing the mountain in the snow only to stretch out and die at the top. He's sick of the weary features, the nightmares that have him choking in the night, and realizing that no matter how hard he may try, no matter what he does, Eiji cannot make everything go away for him. He cannot give him a festival or fish.

Because Ash would be happier somewhere else, he knows it. Somewhere where he isn't hunted. A place safe and free from terror, violence and lies. Away with _him_, so far together that nothing can touch them.

Sometimes Ash looks at him and sees these thoughts, and that's when he smiles sadly as if to say it could never happen. But the wistful longing still lingers on in the sharp jungle of his eyes, the single bit of color in a world jaded green. This is when he says, "Eiji, it's not—"

He always turns away, frantically wondering how they could be so trapped, so utterly lost to death, that they cannot even live.

**xv.**

In Ash's mind, he is falling further down the darkness of the rabbit hole.

"I'm going out," he says quietly, trying not to look at Eiji's face as he shrugs into his denim jacket. It's almost too short—he'll have to buy a new one, or at least send one of the boys to get him another soon. He tries not to think about the weight of the gun resting in his pocket; it nearly scalds his skin. He doesn't want to go, not really, not with the night so cold and the apartment so warm, and the subtle sounds of Eiji picking up his books behind him as he's prone to do, and the monotone ticking of the clock going away as if it were unchanging in the world.

"Okay," Eiji says, but it sounds dull.

He stands for a moment longer, wavering. He can't look at Eiji. If he does, it is over, and he can't afford for it to be over. "Later," he says, feeling as though his tongue is coated in sawdust. He wants to take it all back. Everything. 'Later' is all he can promise him, but it isn't enough. Not anymore.

He wants Eiji to say, _'Stay.'_ And they can start over, just like that.

But he doesn't, and they won't, and Ash tumbles deeper into the chasm as he turns and walks away.

**End**


End file.
